Walking the Line

by Mandy Magro

  Charlize followed suit by sucking in a breath and then sighing it away. ‘Well, I suppose I’m about to find that out for myself, aren’t I?’

  Jasper nodded as he flashed his pearly whites once again. ‘Indeed you are.’

  She looked down at her favourite pair of heels. ‘But, what will I wear?’ Now she was clutching at straws.

  ‘May I suggest clothes? Going nude might give the wrong impression,’ Jasper replied.

  Charlize huffed at his bad attempt at a joke. Jasper was such a nerd, in a usually very adorable way—but not today. She wanted to yell at him, tell him he’d lost his marbles, but she had to bite her tongue. Even though he was like an uncle to her—or maybe more of an aunty—within the walls of this office he was her boss, and she respected him. ‘Do mobile phones work out there? Do they have the internet?’

  Jasper smiled, his puppy-dog brown eyes exaggerated by his very fashionable glasses. ‘Of course they do. Grenfell is only four hours from here. It’s not like you’re heading into the outback.’

  ‘I might as well be.’

  ‘Look, Charlize, all I can say is if you want this promotion bad enough, you’ll have to do a Bridget Jones. Just pull on your big girl panties and deal with it.’

  ‘You’re a dag, Jasper.’ But Charlize couldn’t help but laugh at his analogy. She wanted this promotion more than anything. Her career meant everything to her, and always had.

  ‘I can be a bit of a dag at times—keeps me young. But all jokes aside, I need this story and I also need you there to keep a watchful eye over the photo shoot. I’ve offered to take over the production of the calendar—can you believe they were just going to use a hobby photographer?’ He visibly shuddered. ‘I’m sending our very own Roberto Devoir to do the shoot, and Magda to do the wardrobe and make-up. And we’ll look after the printing side of it here.’

  ‘So when do I leave?’

  ‘First thing Monday morning.’

  ‘Far out, that’s only three days away.’

  ‘I’m sure two days to pack will be sufficient. And who knows, if you let yourself you might even have a bit of good old-fashioned country fun while you’re there.’

  She laughed sarcastically. ‘I’m not into line dancing while drinking beer and driving around in trucks and tractors all day long.’

  Jasper broke into high-pitched laughter, with little snorts in between as he gathered his breath.

  Charlize had to fight not to laugh along with him. He had the most addictive laugh she’d ever heard. ‘What the heck are you laughing at?’

  ‘You’ve been listening to too much country music, darling. That’s not all they do out there you know. I used to love the time I spent on my uncle’s farm, God rest his soul; there was just so much of Mother Nature to enjoy.’

  ‘I never listen to country music. And I really doubt there’s that much fun to be had out there in them there sticks.’ She made sure to emphasise the country twang on the last bit, making Jasper giggle even more.

  Once somewhat recomposed, he wiped his teary eyes with a chequered and very precisely ironed handkerchief. ‘Oh come on. You only live once, and allowing yourself to have some good old-fashioned country fun might help you get over Mister Look-At-Me-I’m-The-Most-Beautiful-Man-In-The-World—not—Alistair. It might be just what the doctor ordered.’

  She shook her head sadly as she clasped her hands in her lap. ‘Alistair wants me to give him another chance.’

  Jasper heaved an overstated sigh. ‘Well, I don’t think he deserves one, but it’s your life and you’re a big girl now, so that decision is of course up to you.’ He offered her a compassionate smile. ‘Just promise me you’ll think long and hard about what he’s done to you. You deserve so much better, darling. Just because you’re married to the bloke doesn’t mean you have to stay with him. This isn’t the eighteen hundreds and there’s such a thing as a divorce.’

  ‘I promise I’ll think long and hard.’ Charlize returned his smile, wanting to avoid a deep and meaningful right now otherwise she’d end up a blithering mess again. ‘So, do I fly straight into Greenwall?’

  ‘It’s Grenfell, sweetie. G. R. E. N. F. E. L. L. And no, there’s no airport in Grenfell. You’ll be flying into Parkes—home of the famous telescope. You know, the one in The Dish?’ Jasper grinned like a game show host, clearly proud of his knowledge.

  ‘Oh-kay.’ It meant nothing to Charlize. ‘So how do I get from this Parkes place to Grenfell?’

  ‘There’ll be a rental car there for you when you arrive. It’s only about an hour’s drive, and quite scenic I hear.’

  ‘Right then, sounds like it’s all sorted.’

  ‘It surely is. I’ve taken the liberty of booking Bruce on as well.’ He tutted. ‘I tried to talk them into letting you take him on board in your handbag but they wouldn’t hear of it. I’m afraid the gorgeous little cherub has to be checked in as excess luggage. The cheek of them—don’t they know he’s human?’

  ‘That’s okay, Jasper. I’ve taken him on flights with me a couple of times when I’ve headed up north to visit my aunty and cousins, so he’s become accustomed to the way of pet travel. He’ll be fine.’

  ‘I just hate the thought of him being down there with all that luggage. But if you’re okay with it, so am I.’ Jasper grabbed a large yellow envelope off the top of his desk and handed it to her. ‘All the information you need is in here, phone numbers and air tickets and the like, and also detailed directions to the Armstrongs’ property, Rollingstone Ridge.’

  Charlize smirked. ‘You really were confident I was going to do this, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yup. You’ve wanted that corner office since the very first day you walked in here.’

  Charlize flicked through the contents of the envelope, noting the handwritten directions. ‘Can’t I just use Google Maps, like a normal person?’

  Jasper stood and walked to the closed door. ‘I’m not sure Google Maps will take you directly to the front gate, darling.’ He opened the door and the quiet was disturbed by the hullabaloo of the busy office as people bustled about the hallway—each on their own important mission. ‘I’ve got another meeting in five minutes, so just give me a shout if you need any more info, okay sweetie?’

  Standing, Charlize gathered her briefcase from the floor. ‘If you don’t hear from me by Monday afternoon make sure you send out a search party, won’t you.’ She gave him a playful smile as she walked past him.

  ‘Have fun.’ Jasper replied with a cheeky grin.

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Charlize took a step back and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Thanks for always looking out for me.’

  Jasper smiled warmly and gave Charlize a quick hug. ‘Always have, and always will.’

  CHAPTER

  3

  It was an annual event that usually pulled crowds from near and far—and from the looks of things this year was no different. The Mareeba rodeo grounds were jam-packed with enthusiastic spectators, most decked out in their best western-style shirts, boots and wide-brimmed hats and some with huge glitzy belt buckles. In the circling grandstands they were packed in like sardines and around the far side of the arena families and friends huddled on picnic blankets or in the backs of utes that had been parked there before sunrise. Everyone wanted the best spot to see all the action of the centre ring—the bucking broncos, the barrel racing and the bull riding. Johnny Cash’s unmistakable bass-baritone voice boomed from the speakers on ‘Ring of Fire’, and many of the spectators were singing the well-known lyrics out loud. The atmosphere was electric, the anticipation high. This was living.

  Humming the catchy tune, Dallas Armstrong smiled towards the jovial throng as he sauntered out of the back of the chutes. Country-loving folk were his type of people. He only ever went to the big smoke when one of the rodeos he was competing in was there, and even then he felt like a fish out of water. Leaning on the cold metal of the loading and holding pens, he quietly assessed his competition as he gave the familiar stock contractors a friendly
wave.

  Belligerent bulls glared back at him, each of them displaying their own personalities and traits as they strutted their stuff while they were moved about. Some were snorting and kicking the ground as they gave him the death stare, while others were eerily calm. Dallas admired the animals’ athletic qualities. These one-tonne bulls were bred to buck, and loved what they did—and he knew from experience that no man on this earth could make a bull buck if it didn’t want to.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, he smirked towards the brute he would be getting tonight. The last time he’d ridden this very bucking bull it had tossed him—a tremor coursed throughout him as he recalled the pain of the bull’s horn going through his thigh muscle—but he was going to make damn sure it didn’t get its way tonight. His blood wasn’t going to be spilt again. Before the memory grabbed hold of him he shook the fear off—there was no room for fear in this sport.

  A giggle caught his attention and he turned to see a group of dressed-to-the-nines girls—‘buckle bunnies’ in rodeo lingo—trying to catch the eyes of the bull riders getting ready behind the chutes. He shook his head as he wandered back towards his fellow riders; the girls’ oohs and ahhs making him chuckle. Some cowboys lived up to their bad reputations, but he wasn’t one for one-night stands.

  He liked to walk the line, stay on the straight and narrow, his search for love going beyond the pleasures of the flesh. He yearned to meet a woman that intrigued him, that challenged him, but also allowed him to be himself. He wanted someone who was comfortable being herself around him, a woman that brought out the best in him; someone he could spend the rest of his days with, not some fly-by-night fling.

  He’d thought he’d had that with his first love, a city-born newcomer to Grenfell, Anna Gordon. At sweet sixteen she’d moved to the country with her parents when her father had snapped up the bank manager’s position. They’d shared a good few happy years together, until her romantic ideal of being a cattleman’s future wife was crushed when she realised her days weren’t going to involve tea parties, extravagant dinners and endless riches. She’d ended up running off with some city bloke that had promised her the world, leaving Dallas with nothing but a five thousand dollar credit card bill and a broken heart. And only three weeks after his father had passed away too. Talk about kicking him in the guts when he was already down. He hadn’t looked sideways at another female since.

  Looking back towards the grandstand, Dallas grinned as the announcer enticed the crowd into a Mexican wave. It was such an inspiring spectacle of togetherness as thousands of arms reached high into the air. There was nothing in the world that could rival the excitement and adrenaline of a rodeo in his eyes—the roar of the crowd, the smell of the bulls and the smoking barbeques, the blood, sweat and tears of the riders, bullfighters and livestock contractors.

  Like his father, he loved this sport. Apart from running the family cattle property, bull riding was his life and always had been. He’d been gouged, concussed, had his collarbone snapped in two, wishbone-style, and been trampled into the ground more times than the coyote from the roadrunner cartoon, but he wasn’t giving up. A true-to-the-core bull rider never gave up, at anything he wanted. Ever. And he felt he owed it to his father to keep going, to keep the Armstrong name alive in the rodeo circuit. State champion wasn’t enough—he was going to be Australian Champion if it damn near killed him.

  His heart squeezed tight with the memory of his father’s death and he fought with all he had to keep the memories at bay. He couldn’t go reliving it all tonight, as he had a million times before—he needed all his wits to stay safe. It was man against beast out there in the dusty arena—the danger so real you could almost smell it. Unlike most razzle-dazzle sports, bulls couldn’t be choreographed, and the injuries were real. Like a shadow, the possibility of death was always lurking at the back of his mind, but it wasn’t going to stop him.

  The announcer’s voice interrupted a Garth Brooks tune as he welcomed the crowd with all the flamboyancy of a Vegas show host, but with the drawl of a good old-fashioned Aussie country bloke. ‘G’day, I’m Burt Gradstein and I’ll be your compere for tonight. I hope you’re all strapped in for the ride up there in the stands because boy oh boy it’s shaping up to be one hell of an adrenaline-fuelled night.’

  The crowd roared in response, the whoops and hollers heard above the clapping.

  It was time. Dallas sucked in a deep breath to calm the nerves suddenly running amok in his belly. No matter how many times he rode the bucking and spinning beasts, his nerves were always the same leading up to it.

  The air hung heavy with excitement as he headed out to where the action would soon take place. The red dust was swirling as chap-clad bull riders swaggered in front of him to the boom of AC/DC’s ‘Thunderstruck’ and the roar of the crowd. Their spurs jingled in symphony with the surround sound blaring. The compere’s drawly voice bellowed from the suspended speakers, the riders’ poker faces captured on the big screen by the Pro Bull Riders travelling camera crew. The announcer moved down the line of men, introducing each bull rider along the way, and knowing just what to say to pump the crowd up even more than they already were.

  Dallas found himself caught up in the process. And then before he knew it, all eyes fell upon him. His stomach backflipped. He hated being in the spotlight. He’d rather be on the back of a bull than standing in front of a microphone—standing still was a hell of a lot harder than making a move. His dad had always said he’d grow accustomed to the public speaking side of things but even after ten years he never had.

  The announcer smiled broadly at the crowd and then motioned to Dallas with a wide sweep of his arm. ‘And last but not least, folks, all the way from Grenfell, New South Wales, please put your hands together for the one and only Dallas Armstrong.’

  Women squealed, men cheered and children clapped with glee. From under his black Akubra, Dallas squinted beneath the floodlights of the arena, humbled by the attention. He tugged on the brim of his hat and then gave the noisy crowd a grateful wave. The rowdier whoops, hollers and wolf-whistles in response always made him smile. This was what he lived for. Not for the celebrity status that came with bull riding, but for the opportunity to make people happy.

  The announcer let the crowd’s excitement die down before asking them to stand. A young girl, no older than fifteen, walked out to the centre of the arena with a microphone clutched between her hands. When she began to sing the Australian national anthem, the crowd stood mesmerised, the girl’s voice showing strength way beyond her years. Dallas removed his hat and placed it against his chest, as did the twelve other hopeful bull riders beside him. As he mouthed the words, the great pride he held for his country filled him. He was so grateful to be born into such a blessed and beautiful country, and it was all thanks to courageous men like his late great-grandfather who fought in the First World War before becoming one of Grenfell’s most successful cattlemen. Rollingstone Ridge was a testament to his pioneering spirit. And he had passed that spirit on to Dallas’s grandmother Nancy, and mum Katherine.

  With the national anthem finished, the announcer’s smiling face turned solemn.

  ‘So many people throughout the years have had heroes, and that’s what a bull rider is. The thing that he stands for more than anything else in this world is honour and pride and he believes that the good lord will take care of him. Now let us bow our heads for “The Cowboy’s Prayer”, written by the late Clem McSpadden.’

  With the prayer finished, Dallas whispered ‘Amen’ along with the crowd. He lifted his head And tugged his hat back on. He wasn’t a deeply religious man, but he did try to hold some sort of faith, even though it had been tested to its limits when his father died. He liked to believe there was an afterlife, that there was some place for his father to be, but he still struggled with the fact that God had taken him from them so prematurely, and in such tragic circumstances. There were so many unanswered questions and the words the paramedics had quietly passed onto him from
his dad were like stabs to his heart.

  Tell my boy I’m sorry …

  And so was he. He still blamed himself for his father’s death, and for the pain his mother carried around because of it. Why did things have to go so bad so quickly, and end in the most heartbreaking of ways? Why couldn’t the powers that be allow him the answers he so desperately needed? Life, although beautiful, could at times be so damn cruel.

  Fireworks shot up into the velvet-black sky like speeding bullets, the momentary resounding booms grabbing Dallas’s attention and interrupting his deeply depressing thoughts—thankfully. He’d spent countless hours running his father’s last words through his mind, and he didn’t want to do it all over again tonight. The brilliant soaring fireworks were captivating, the force behind them shaking the ground beneath his favourite Ariat boots like a series of mini earthquakes. Some shot straight up before exploding into a plethora of colours, others whirled in fiery spirals, while more burst into thousands of sparkling diamonds then tumbled like multicoloured glittering waterfalls. The sound was deafening but enjoyable, the wide eyes of the engrossed children standing around the arena as they watched, heartwarming. Dallas smiled to himself; he couldn’t wait to have kids of his own and the more the merrier. Growing up as an only child, Dallas had always wanted siblings and he longed for his house to be filled with the laughter of his children.

  The end of the fireworks was the cue for the bull riders to go and get prepared. Dallas’s heart rate picked up again as he made his way back behind the chutes. He was up third tonight, and had drawn one of the heavyweight bulls of the rodeo circuit, Tornado. He had a decent sized scar on his leg as a memento of their last encounter, but he wasn’t going to let that recollection intimidate him—it only made him more determined to settle the score. A smile tugged at his lips as he thought about making the eight-second mark.